


Five Times The Avatar Kissed A Girl

by cptsdcarlosdevil



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/F, Fire play, Group Sex, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-19 19:48:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5979040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptsdcarlosdevil/pseuds/cptsdcarlosdevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>aka Raava, you are super-gay</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times The Avatar Kissed A Girl

Yangchen. 

“Padma, wait up!” Yangchen cried. 

Padma laughed and soared higher. Seeing that there was nothing else to do, Yangchen picked up her own glider. 

Yangchen was doomed, of course. She might be the Avatar, but that meant her study was divided across four different elements, three of which were no help in a race. And Padma was the best at flying in all of the Western Air Temple. Every free moment-- and, to be honest, quite a few that technically ought to have been spent meditating or scrubbing pans-- she was among the birds. And while she spent a lot of time practicing tricks-- she could do the loop-de-loop like no other-- there was still no comparison to her for old-fashioned speed. 

Next time, Yangchen thought, they were going to do an Agni Kai instead. 

But Padma’s lilting laugh called to her, even as Padma became nothing more than a dark dot in the sky, and Yangchen called up the wind and rose. 

“First one to the forking tree on the mountain,” Padma said, sounding a little out of breath. It gave Yangchen a little hope of winning. Not much. Padma out of breath could beat Yangchen fresh eleven days out of ten. 

“You’re on,” Yangchen said. 

Padma was playing with her, it was obvious. She slowed just enough for Yangchen to catch up and have a hope of winning; then she raced ahead, making turns that took Yangchen’s breath away with how daring they were. Padma was a risktaker; sometimes Yangchen wondered if she was supposed to have been born among the boastful warriors of the Fire Nation, instead of the quiet monks of the temple. But maybe that was why she was a member of the Air Nomads. In this life, her soul needed to find balance and peace. If the temple only had people who had reached enlightenment already, it wouldn’t do much good.

And Padma’s sprightliness certainly made the Air Temple a livelier place to live. Enlightenment was joy, was it not? And some of those serious monks needed a bright, happy girl like Padma to remind them of that. They were so grim that you’d think enlightenment was some kind of dread duty they had been tasked by an unfeeling master to perform. 

Yangchen herself had that problem, come to think of it. 

Which was why, instead of lessons and meditation, she was spending today racing with a pretty girl. It was the best possible thing she could do for her spiritual development. 

Such thoughts had distracted Yangchen, allowing Padma to get ahead to the point that she wasn’t even pretending to be seriously competing. 

“The wildcat-tortoise beats the parakeet-hare, you know,” Yangchen called.

“I just don’t want to make my victory too easy,” Padma taunted, although she sped up a little. 

“Take care, or you’ll wind up making it a defeat,” Yangchen remarked.

Padma-- spurred by Yangchen’s comments, or the observation that Yangchen was very nearly on her tail-- flew spirals in the sky, and Yangchen smiled and flew higher herself. Padma was going to win, but she would sulk if it were anything other than a fair fight. 

They were nearing the forked tree, and Padma had finally stopped lollygagging as enthusiastically in the sky as she did on her chores. She flew faster, to the point that Yangchen could hear how fast she went in the roar of the wind. Yangchen moved as quickly as she could, but all she could see was Padma’s dust, and Padma reached the tree a good thirty seconds before she did. 

Yangchen landed, light and out of breath, on the ground. 

“You win,” she said, snapping her glider closed. 

“What do I win?” Padma asked, her infectious grin spreading across her face. 

“A kiss,” Yangchen said. She began to call up a little wind, subtly, so Padma couldn’t feel it. “That is, if you can get it.” She took off, Padma shouting half-serious protests up at her. 

“You’re not going to be able to get it if you stay down there!” Yangchen called.

“I could give you five minutes’ head start and I would still get my kiss,” Padma said. 

“I’m glad the prospect of kissing me is so motivating,” Yangchen said. “I always prefer to kiss a girl who’s passionate about it.”

Their laughs echoed around the monastery and-- Yangchen thought, as Padma caught up to her and extracted her prize-- she had never in her life been so delighted to lose. 

II. Anana

“You know those stories your mother tells us?” Nauja asked one day as they wandered around the Water Tribe village. 

Anana stuck her tongue out. “They’re boooooring,” she said, with all the authority of her nine years. 

Anana wasn’t sure whether she wanted to build a snow fort or throw snowballs at Nauja; to be honest, neither sounded like something she really wanted to do. So she paid close attention to what Nauja was saying. She was saying it in the tone of voice that meant she’d just thought of a wonderful game or prank, and Anana definitely wanted to think of a new prank. 

“Super-boring,” Nauja agreed. Anana took offense; after all, they were her mother’s stories, not Nauja’s mother’s stories. Anana didn’t go around insulting Nauja’s mother’s seal-shark hide boots. 

But if they got in an argument then they wouldn’t get to play Benders and Robbers later, so instead Anana said, “I hate having to listen to some stupid Water Tribe boy rescuing some stupid Water Tribe girl.”

“I like the rescuing part,” Nauja said. 

“Yeah,” Anana said. It was true. The rescuing part involved swordfights and waterbending fights and solving puzzles and clever interpretations of prophecies so that you got what you wanted. If stories were just about the rescuing part, she would have no objections to them. “But they always get married.” She plopped down on the snow. 

“Boys are stupid,” Nauja said. “I’m never going to marry one. And kissing.” Nauja’s face made it clear what she thought of kissing. 

“Eww,” Anana agreed. “It’s like spitting in someone’s mouth. Gross!”

Nauja looked very seriously at Anana. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yes!” Anana said. She liked secrets. 

“I don’t think I would mind the kissing so much,” she said, “if it weren’t for the fact that they were kissing boys.”

“Yeah, boys are gross,” Anana said. “But who else are they going to kiss?”

“Maybe girls could kiss each other,” Nauja said, with the air of one who has just made a groundbreaking discovery. 

Anana considered this seriously. “It never happens in stories,” she said dubiously. 

“Lots of things don’t happen in stories,” Nauja said. “Nobody ever goes penguin-sledding in stories, and it’s the funnest thing ever.”

Nauja was making a very serious case. Boys were stupid and made dumb fart jokes, not at all like Anana’s fart jokes, which were always the height of humor. “I bet kissing girls is way better than kissing icky boys,” Anana said.

Nauja’s cheeks colored slightly. “I was thinking I could kiss you,” she said shyly. 

Kissing Nauja would definitely be better than kissing any of the boys in the tribe, but-- “It still seems like spitting in someone’s mouth.”

“You can try it, at least,” Nauja said, “you try all sorts of gross things. You licked the walrus-bear that one time.”

Anana’s face screwed up. She could still taste it in her mouth when she thought about it. “That was icky.”

“And I’m way cuter than some stupid walrus-bear.”

Unable to deny the obvious truth of this argument, Anana presented her lips for kissing. Nauja bent over her and pecked her, almost like she was a bird who had just found a delicious new rabbit-worm. 

Anana thought about this new experience. “I can’t see what all the fuss is about.”

“Maybe we should do it for longer,” Nauja said.

“Maybe. Ow!”

“Sorry,” Nauja said. “It’s hard to figure out with the noses.”

“Maybe you should tilt your head a bit?”

That worked wonderfully, and this time Nauja’s lips stayed on Anana’s for a good ten heartbeats. Now that was much nicer. Anana hadn’t realized before how much her lips could feel, but it felt like she could feel every crack and chap in Nauja’s lips. Nauja’s face was very warm, and it sent this feeling of warmth throughout Anana’s whole body, like someone had built up a fire inside her heart. She felt very happy, kind of like she wanted to sing and kind of like she wanted to run around and a lot like she never wanted to stop kissing Nauja ever again. 

When they parted, Anana didn’t move away; she rested her head on Nauja’s shoulder. Anana assessed kissing critically. “I think I like kissing,” she said. “Can we do it again?” 

III. Kyoshi

Kyoshi had not precisely intended to create a band of warriors. 

It had all started when she noticed the same woman at the marketplace being harassed by drunk men for the third time this week. 

“Sir, I am just trying to sell my cabbages,” the woman had said. 

“Oh, we know what you’re selling.” The man leered.

Kyoshi made short work of the men-- as she had twice before-- but sighed. “There has got to be a better way,” she said. “I’m moving on soon, and those drunk bastards will be back.”

She blinked in sudden realization. “I’m moving on soon, but you’re not,” she said. 

She had only intended to teach the woman self-defense-- well, her, and the woman whose husband hit her, and the girl whose father was selling her to be married to a man four times her age, and there were quite an absurd number of women who needed protection from men, weren’t there? But then some of them had nowhere to go. Once they defended themselves, their families abandoned them. Kyoshi would have been a terrible Avatar if she’d just let them be. And then girls started showing up on her doorstep who had perfectly nice families and just wanted to be one of the brave Kyoshi Warriors. 

At the time, Kyoshi hadn’t even realized she had warriors.

But there was nothing better than stripping off after a long day righting wrongs and defeating evildoers, surrounded by the women you’d trained into the peak of physical ability-- from the child whose fans were as large as she was to the old woman who took down men twice her size. Kyoshi had always been a very physical woman: there was a reason Earth was her best element. She liked food, she liked fighting, she liked bending, and she liked sex. She taught them not just to take care of themselves but to take pleasure in themselves, to delight in what their bodies could do. 

In their barracks, the floor of one room was spread with soft things: blankets, furs, pillows as small as a hand and large enough that Kyoshi could curl up on one and take a nap. Many of the Kyoshi Warriors had male lovers, but the male lovers did not come into that room. It was sacred ground. At night, the Kyoshi Warriors drizzled in, in pairs or triplets, giggling and kissing. 

Women who had food instead of fear often found themselves more enthusiastic about making love, and battle always stirred the blood. 

Some only snuggled, their heads on each other’s shoulders, their hands wrapped together. Others did acts that Kyoshi had not realized were physically possible: she watched in awe the first time a woman took a whole fist inside her, and realized there were whole arenas of physical achievement she had known nothing about, but which she was eager to appreciate. Still others preferred to watch, perhaps rubbing themselves as they watched the other women take their pleasure. One girl could only sleep in that room, lulled by the moans of women who were utterly satisfied. 

Kyoshi herself often participated. She didn’t much like the edgy stuff some of the other warriors did: while she understood the artistry of a woman in bondage and the endurance of a woman in pain, it wasn’t what she wanted. She loved to have a woman on her face, to lick and suck and taste, to have her juices running down her face, smearing the makeup which she often forgot to take off. She loved it when two women were taking care of her, each licking one of her breasts, a pair of hands between her legs competing to see which will be the one to get her off. It was common that Kyoshi did not know which of her lovers was licking at her slit, which one’s hand was in her hair, whose breasts had made their way into her hands, and that was what Kyoshi liked best of all. It felt like she was being fucked by all of her warriors at once. 

At night, she would awake and watch her warriors, the Kyoshi Warriors: stomachs rising and falling, legs entwined, one or two perhaps drooling, this one with her legs still slick from earlier activities, them all sleeping like women who had nothing to fear. Kyoshi had not intended to create a band of warriors, but she did not regret that she did.

IV. Naoki

Naoki loved to burn. 

She began with a massage. Naoki poured some oil into her palm and rubbed, gently yet firmly, working out the kinks in Suzu’s back. Naoki’s hands were skilled, and when they weren’t about to play the game-- Naoki’s favorite game-- she could melt Suzu into a puddle of goo. But Suzu’s muscles were tense, awaiting what was to come. She would not relax from this massage no matter how well Naoki massaged. 

At first she summoned only warmth. It was a routine technique among Firebender masseuses; the warm air relaxed the muscles, allowing the bender to deal with the knots that could get out no other way. It was superbly relaxing and Naoki had often been on the other end of it herself. But Suzu did not relax; she hissed as soon as she noticed that Naoki was bending, and her thigh muscles felt as though she was about to leap off the massage table.

She wouldn’t. Suzu loved to burn as well as Naoki did. 

Naoki had many ways to start to burn. She could make the heat hotter and hotter, slowly, so that neither Suzu nor herself knew when it began to be fire instead of heat. Her Firebending master had praised her fine control and asked if she could tell him how she’d learned, so he could share it with his other students. She had demurred, guessing he wouldn’t appreciate the answer.

But this time Naoki used surprise. When Naoki was halfway through rubbing down Suzu’s back, when Suzu hadn’t braced herself and was least expecting it, Naoki summoned a small puff of flame…

And she burned.

It took precision to burn one’s lover. There were many things to be aware of. Of course, a carelessly tossed flame could maim or kill; in the art of war, one could get away with all sorts of sloppiness, but in the art of love, there had to be discipline, to allow the flame to touch one’s lover’s back without causing damage. And further Naoki had to watch every micromovement of Suzu’s, every small hitch in the breath, every groan, the way she bit her lip, the way her feet twitched, the blockage or smooth flow of her chi. Naoki understood that there were sadists who did not pay so close attention-- her Suzu had known them-- but Naoki did not understand them. What was the purpose of burning, if not to tear someone apart? And what was the purpose of tearing someone apart, if you did not watch?

Naoki once had had to think about how to change the pain in response to the nonverbal feedback, to bring her Suzu to the heights of which she was capable. But she had been with Suzu for a long time, and in this game they became like a single person, adjustments as unconscious as scratching an itch. Naoki no longer burned Suzu; they burned together. 

Suzu loved Naoki, because Naoki was the Avatar, and she could go deeper and hotter and longer than anyone else could; Naoki loved Suzu, because she was the only one who was willing to take as much as Naoki had to give. When Naoki judged it was time to stop, Suzu whimpered in protest; she could no longer speak.

Naoki lifted the water from a finely crafted bowl by her side. It was not difficult, while healing, to cause pain; it was a simple reversal of the techniques usually used to prevent it. The back wanted to hurt, when you were knitting flesh together and growing skin. All Naoki had to do was to encourage it. Naoki typically micromanaged the pain of burning, not allowing the fire to travel a fingernail’s breadth where it was not permitted; but she preferred to allow the pain of healing to be as it wished, sharpening it perhaps, but mostly leaving it be.

The response from Suzu on the table was... gratifying. She hissed sharply as Naoki moved the water over her skin. The two pains were distinct, the pain of destroying and the pain of growing; Suzu loved them both. Naoki felt it was more complete, more artistic, to heal after you hurt. It was a shame that she was the only one who could.

When Suzu’s back was as smooth as it was before the massage began, Naoki gently kissed her on the lips. “You did well, my love,” she said.

Suzu curled on the table, languorous and content, like a cat. “I always do.”

V. Korra. 

The energies of the Spirit World rose around them, but Korra only had eyes for her. When they kissed, for once, everything suddenly seemed okay.

“Where to next?” Asami asked.

“Anywhere.”


End file.
